Immortalem Bellum
by Devourer of Calamities
Summary: To war with the Undying is to war with the Abyss. To war with the Abyss is to dance to the chronic melody of Chaos. All reality becomes fodder for beasts and all those who blink become the Abyss. Dumbledore's demise reveals secrets that shatter Harry's reality, and he must now forge a path of his own, or allow the Headmaster to pull strings from the afterlife.
1. To wish upon a dying wizard

Author's Notes: This story is not suitable for minors, and henceforth anyone who is not of age must leave. The story contains violence, depictions of extreme sexual acts, crude language and other content not suited for minors. All recognizable Harry Potter characters and content belongs to J.K. Rowling and associates and I make no money off this.

This site has an irritatingly short summary limit, so here is the full summary I came up with.

To war with the Undying is to war with the Abyss. To war with the Abyss is to dance to the chronic melody of Chaos. All reality becomes fodder for beasts and all those who blink become the Abyss. Dumbledore's demise reveals secrets that shatter Harry's reality, and he must now forge a path of his own, or allow the Headmaster to pull strings from the afterlife. To war with the Undying is to war with the Abyss, and those who war with the Abyss must not blink, lest the Abyss win.

Greetings! I wrote this story as an experiment, to discover whether my writing style could develop towards writing smut, and as such the story will be an integration of heavy smut and plot. The story begins from the end of The Half-Blood Prince, and contains a few changes to canon plot, namely that Harry and Cho Chang never went out, and Harry never fancied her. Hermione is a succubus/futanari, the details will be made clear by the story itself. While reading the story keep in mind that Harry spent almost ten years living under a cup-board under the stairs, without knowing what friends and kindness are, and any such person will find their mind covered in deep scars. While Rowling decided to forgo this little fact, the Harry portrayed in this story will show some effects of such isolation. The story portrays Hermione as sexually Dominant, and may feature Harry and Hermione having sexual relations with other characters, some consensual, some not so much. However, the main pairing will be Harry/Hermione.

With that out of the way, have fun, and do not forget to leave a review- all criticism is welcome, provided that it is criticism and not hate.

Edit:- In case you do not know what a futanari is, it means Hermione has a penis (but in this story also a vagina).

Thank you for your time.

* * *

Dead eyes.

Once upon a time, those very eyes, so full of life, had stared at him- stared _through _him. but that had been a long time ago- had it only been a few hours? Since when did a few hours seem like a century? Maybe since the old man had died. Maybe the Earth itself had stopped moving- sensing the hole the death of one man had created. Maybe nature had realized that someone consequential had moved on, and there was no one brave enough, or great enough, to step up and fill the void.

His heart ached like there was something physically wrong with it. _Why the fuck is everything so heavy?_ There was a familiar weight in his heart and mind, but its intensity was strangely unfamiliar. He was an orphan- to be honest, he was an orphan marked for misery. And all his life, he had been alone. He knew loneliness better than he knew the people around him. It was a shame, but shame was all he had for a life. It was all he had been given, and all he would carry with him to his grave.

"Harry?"

With a start, Harry remembered he wasn't alone. _People- Sheep._ He wished he were somewhere else. Right then, he wished he was miles away, far from the corpse of the man who had played with Harry's life for the greater good, far away from eyes watching his every move, far away from the people he was meant to save. "Harry?" He didn't want to turn around. He didn't want to face her. He didn't want her to know he _could_ have saved Albus Dumbledore- and maybe there was a universe where he _had_, but he _couldn't- _not in this one at least. She touched him then. Her warm delicate hand on his shoulder.

It made Harry want to scream.

She didn't know. How could Harry make her understand what she did to him? She, of course, took it lightly. She always had had the privilege of touching him, hadn't she? She applied a gentle pressure, trying to make him turn away, away from the tragedy split open in front of him and towards her, but Harry was numb to everything. He couldn't hear the roaring murmurs, the cries and the wailing of the mourning crowd around him. He couldn't see the accusations, how fear was turning the crowd.

Maybe something had exploded over his head, and left his ears ringing, because that's how he felt.

Harry didn't know. He just wanted to stop existing for a while. Something was tittering nearby, like pebbles falling on one another. It took Harry a moment to realize he was shivering, and his teeth were chattering in the cold. But he was dressed well enough, _wasn't he?_

He spared a glance at himself, taking his eyes off the body for the first time perhaps. Yes, he was dressed well enough, considering where he had been with…. _him. _Why then? For a foolish moment, Harry thought he was dead too, and his ghost had come back to haunt the corridors of Hogwarts, but the hand on his shoulder, and the mountain of ache and weight inside of him reminded him he was alive.

He wished, standing in the crowd, he wished with all his magic and all his might, for the old wizard to be alive. But no stars were falling. He glanced upwards, into the gloomy dark clouds, seeing myriad shapes, great white beards and big green skulls, twinkling blue eyes and crimson slits, men and monsters alike, dancing and battling, courting chaos.

She pulled again, a bit harder this time, and Harry relented, letting her guide him away from the horror that was the Headmaster's dead form. His eyes were wide open, yet unseeing, and he let her take him wherever she wanted to. His body felt horrible, an outlandish mix of hollow and cold, and Harry wondered for the tenth time that night, if he was dreaming.

They stepped into a long corridor, and she took him by the elbow choosing to walk beside him, but he barely noticed. Something had died in him along with Dumbledore, and he didn't know how to fix it. He didn't know _if_ he could fix it, or even if he wanted to. The world was a fiercely cold place, and Harry was lost. Not for the first time though, he'd been lost all his life.

A cold biting draft filled the corridor, and the gust buffeted his face, its cold itching to eat away at him, and he pulled his arms around himself. "Harry?"

He heard her again, and finally, he turned his head round to face her. For a moment, Harry didn't register what he was seeing, but as the moments trickled by, he realized her knees were in his face. It was a puzzle. His mind wasn't going straight. When she called his name again, he realized her voice was coming from above him, and the cold hard ground beneath him meant only one thing- he was on his knees.

_Not on your knees, Potter,_ he realized. He was sitting by his buttocks, knees drawn up to his chest, and arms wrapped tightly around them. _What?_ Wasn't he walking a second ago?

_Hope_.

The word echoed hauntingly in his mind. Dumbledore's last word- the last word to tumble past his lips as the great wizard himself tumbled past the parapet of the highest tower, and into the arms of his _next great adventure_. "H-Harry?"

_Where do all the stars go Harry?_ He asked himself, the voice in his mind his own, and yet strongly unfamiliar.

There was a difference in her tone this time, and a few seconds passed before Harry realized she was crying. He looked up at her then, _really_ looked at her. _Where do all the stars go Harry? _He decided then, he would have to get up. He was disturbing her, somehow. It wasn't like he'd planned on it. He opened his mouth and said the words, that he was alright, but even he realized that something was horribly wrong. His lips moved, and his tongue flapped, but no sound came out.

And he was cold- from the _inside._ He needed more clothes, but somehow, in the wake of Albus Dumbledore's murder, his warmth didn't seem appropriate anymore. Hadn't the earth stopped its turns to mourn for the headmaster of Hogwarts, and hadn't time itself slowed down? And if not, then why did he feel that years had passed, and he was old enough to follow Dumbledore, and lay himself down to rest.

_Where do all the stars go Harry?_

His cheeks stung from the cold, and two particularly harsh lines of cold ran down his face. Harry didn't know when his tears had started falling. When she moved to wipe them off his face, he shrank unto himself, preferring his own hands to bear the weight, and in turn, the proof of his grief. He stood up then, shakily and uncertainly, this time not needing her assistance to be guided to the Infirmary.

The way there was a blur. Harry had wanted time. He needed to visit the Headmaster's office, needed to follow one last instruction his mentor in the big war to come had given him, but his time wasn't his yet. The infirmary was, in Harry's opinion, too crowded to be called an infirmary. _Try the fish-market._

Whatever space hadn't been taken up by the wounded, was filled with concerned parents, ready to whisk their children away from the castle, now that the great white Knight was dead. Harry felt rage boiling inside of him. There was a hard spot in Harry's chest, bubbling with the need to scream. Dumbledore's castle deserved better; Dumbledore's legacy deserved better. All that he would get, however, was the cold, unforgiving embrace of oblivion. And the disappointment and dismay of cowards. Before he could say something, though he hadn't the foggiest what, he felt her brush against his back. It broke that particular chain of thought, and Harry moved towards the gaggle of redheads in the far corner of the Infirmary. Much to his relief and amazement, it was the least crowded portion of the wing.

Two beds had been arranged side by side, and with chilling horror, Harry realized both were occupied by Weasleys, their flaming red hair visible from any corner of the large room. William Weasley lay on the bed to the right, and George on the left. He stopped a few steps away from them, stopping her with him. She looked at him, tears running down her face. Her hair was a mess, and her eyes bloodshot and swollen.

He wanted to say something, wanted to wipe the past day with hastily formed words and emotions as sharp and brittle as icicles, but all that came out was a sigh. How could this be, he wondered. He couldn't breathe a word to the one person who mattered the most. If only, he thought, if only I can get rid of this weight.

It hurt to breathe, and Harry wondered not for the first time that night, if he too were dying. Maybe Snape had managed to curse him- something slow and venomous, knowing the man.

His eyes caught Ginny's, and he felt irritation well up within him. She'd been hounding him all year, trying to garner his attention, going as far as to break a few hearts along the way. It irritated him to no end- the ridiculousness of it all. He had nothing against her, but couldn't she see he had nothing _for _her either? Fred and Ron stood behind her, facing towards the beds, one of their hands on each of Mrs. Weasley's shoulders, hoping to provide some semblance of comfort.

He suddenly felt suffocated, and it took him a moment to realize someone was hugging him. He flinched physically, tried to withdraw unto himself, and when it didn't work, resigned himself to the suffocation. Minutes later, when he was released, he tried to see who it was. Mrs. Weasley. _Wasn't she standing over there?_

It slowly dawned on him that he was probably not in the best of mental states. He needed to lie down. He needed to sleep- but there was so much to do. He needed to visit _his_ office. He wanted to get as far away from _his _office as possible. But the needs and the wants of Harry Potter were always polar.

He didn't register what was being said, if it was being said to him at all, but through the haze a few words sifted through, and Harry surmised the Weasleys were going to be alright. He felt a slight weight lift from his shoulders- a bucketful from an ocean, but it was some small mercy.

There was nothing more to be said. His shivering wouldn't stop, and cold gusts of wind tortured his skin. He felt _her _beside him, warm and inviting, and Harry wondered for the millionth time why he couldn't do more than just exist around her, a friend who could never be _more_. Sighing, he turned away, in search of a corner to rest against. Sliding down against the wall beneath the window, Harry pulled his knees towards himself, aware that every eye was on him. He felt the footsteps coming towards him but didn't bother to react. It was Ron, trying to make sure Harry was okay. Harry wanted to scream when Ron asked the question.

How could he be okay if everything was so cold? Couldn't they feel it too? Why was he the only one suffering? Minutes passed, as Harry sat there shivering, and he watched with wide eyes as _she_ conjured a blanket for him, carefully draping it around his shoulders. It was too much.

He got up in a daze. "Harry?" He ignored her. Instead, his feet carried him forward. He stumbled twice, first into Dean, who had just arrived to check in on Ginny, and a few steps later into Madam Pomfrey, who gasped when she saw him. She said something, and Harry could see her lips moving, brow furrowed, but words didn't reach him. For a moment Harry felt nothing would. He stumbled again on the threshold of the infirmary, and faintly, he could make out someone following him, and he hoped to Merlin it wasn't _her_. He couldn't have her see him break.

Dumbledore's office had never seemed so far away, and twice Harry stopped to make sure he wasn't lost. The gargoyle looked like it had taken a few hexes, and Harry wondered which death eater had dared to venture so close to Dumbledore's nest.

It was at this point Harry realized another problem. He didn't know the password – couldn't remember it from his last trip to the office. Frustration boiled within him; the walls started to spin. He staggered towards the gargoyle, and collapsed against it, letting loose a tearless sob. A small part of him was relieved that his throat was working, but it was miniscule and lost instantly. He sat there in a corpse like fashion, not knowing what to do. His eyes lay open yet unseeing, and mind thoughtless and lost.

And then he saw _her._ She'd been following him- he'd expected _her_ to. When she saw him, she stiffened, and stood staring for a few seconds. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and even as the first few spilled over, resolve swirled in her brown eyes, and she strode towards him with a determined shade to her face. Harry didn't- couldn't gather the courage to follow her face.

Her knees came into his view, and Harry could see small scratches, fresh with blood, at the side of her left leg. She stood like that for a moment, as if strengthening her resolve, then she was kneeling beside him.

Slowly, her left hand came up, and she gave the gentlest of caresses to his left cheek.

It was madness. It was fire. It was ice. It was all kinds of _mad, mad, beautiful madness._ It was magic.

He didn't know how this was possible. He didn't know what she was doing- couldn't fathom for the life of him how she could affect him like this. But here she was, comforting him with just a gentle touch. His cheek felt..._alive- _unlike the rest of him. Like it had never been part of that night's ordeal. It felt different, new, pure. His eyes flew to hers, disbelieving.

Physical contact had always meant _pain_ to him. It had always brought pain and misery and suffering, so much that he had developed a taste for it- started appreciating what he had. He could still hardly bear to let people touch him. But _she_ had never been people to him. _She_ had never been just anyone.

She gave him a slow smile- chaste, like her. He felt like he was bubbling from within. Her hand touched his cheek again, and her other hand came to run through his hair, once- and very gently. "I know it hurts Harry. But it's going to be okay."

_No, it's not going to be okay, _he thought. _It's never going to be okay._

_"_I'm here Harry. You're not alone."

He couldn't take his eyes off her. She looked radiant. Eyes red and raw, a small bloody cut on her upper lip, face streaked with fresh and old tear marks and soot, and hair a mess. She looked like she had been through hell, and she was still there with him.

"I... -" he didn't know where the strength came from, or _why _it did, but was relieved all the same. Harry could tell she was too.

"Yes?" she asked in a gentle tone, as if he was delicate enough to break from a raised voice.

He didn't know whether to be affronted that she thought of him that way, or to be relieved that someone had seen him for what he was. "I need to get inside…. there's a- there's something I need to…"

Hermione stared at him with something akin to admiration. But her words ran full of worry. "Why won't you rest Harry? Why won't you ever rest? You're going to break yourself at this pace."

Harry wanted nothing more. He wanted to run away- he wanted relief- he wanted escape. But there wasn't any. Was there? The prophecy hung over him like a black cloud that wouldn't go away. There was so much to be done- so much _he_ had to do. It had to be him. Oh, he wanted to break too- maybe then he would get his rest. Maybe then the wheels of the world would start turning on someone else's shoulders- but as long as they turned on his, there was no rest to be had. "There's no one else who can Hermione." He spoke slowly. "There's no one else who will."

It was with sudden clarity that Harry remembered it now. "Turkish Delight." His throat was parched suddenly.

The gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the spiral eagle staircase. He didn't know how he would make it up the stairs, but he took the steps nevertheless. He wondered for the briefest of seconds if he should ask her to come, but she was there, right behind him. The staircase moved with an ominous grinding noise, filling him with dread. He didn't know what he would find at the top of the stairs, and he wasn't sure anymore _if_ he wanted to. _Where do all the stars go Harry?_

The office was empty. Harry didn't know what he had been expecting, maybe the old man to have been seated in is high chair, looking over at Harry from behind his half-moon spectacles, or maybe the pearly white ghost of Albus Dumbledore, waiting with that smile on his face and- sorrow and regret etched into his ghostly eyes turned immortal by the absence of life. The seat was empty. The office was empty. The portraits were empty. And if not for the phoenix sleeping peacefully on the golden perch, Harry would have declared the office dead- as dead as its previous owner. But staying on as a ghost wasn't Dumbledore's style, he wasn't afraid of death. Dumbledore saw it as his ticket into the next life.

He stepped inside the room, soundlessly. Hermione followed with barely a sound. He didn't want to look around- he daren't, lest he disturb the silence of the room. Dimly he remembered the wooden cabinet, built into the inner walls of the office, where Dumbledore kept his pensieve. He walked in a straight line, no longer stumbling or running into things, straight towards the cabinet. He stood there for a moment, his hand resting on the knob. Behind him, he could hear her gentle breathing, and it relaxed him a tiny bit.

The knob was cold to touch, and rusty in its turn, giving Harry the smallest of struggles in its refusal to twist, but he preserved. The cabinet door swung open with a creak, each little sound magnified by the dead silence of the room. The magical basin was waiting for him, but there were no memories inside. For the first time, Harry saw the basin naked in all its glory- an oval bowl so heavily engraved and carved with runes that it was near impossible to distinguish one from another. He knew _she _would drive herself insane trying to figure them all out- and then making her own pensieve, superior to Dumbledore's in every way. The thought almost brought a ghost of a smile to his face.

Then came the guilt- _this _was wrong. He knew he shouldn't have been there. It felt like grave robbing, only he was robbing the cognitive grave of the most powerful wizard the Wizarding world had known in centuries. Harry was stealing secrets- _secrets_ Dumbledore had gone to utmost lengths to keep from him. Dumbledore had _forbidden_ him from looking at these memories. But Dumbledore was dead. And Harry had to live- despite part of him wishing desperately that he was dead too.

A dead man's secrets. A betrayed man's final words.

On their way back to the castle, Dumbledore had been delusional, intoxicated by the poisonous potion he had consumed to obtain the necklace that now resided somewhere in Harry's pockets. _And he had rambled_. Maybe the potion was designed to unravel the mind- to break open what its unfortunate victim had kept closed. In his final moments, Dumbledore had truly gone insane- driven to the extreme ends of anguish and guilt. He had begged Harry to forgive him, only…he wasn't talking to the Harry he was clutching onto to remain upright- the one right next to him. He seemed to be in a daze, seeing another Harry- one who at least knew how Dumbledore had wronged him.

A few vials sat at the end-wall of the cabinet in wooden stands that held those vials safe, with tiny pieces of parchment stuck to them, and the now deceased Headmaster's scrawl running over them and pale memories swirling inside in a wild hypnotic dance of silvery grey strands. But he had already seen all of those, and none of them were labelled with anything suspicious. He stood there, reading the labels on every vial, nevertheless, hoping to find some clue. When he didn't find anything unusual, he tried a few revealing spells, but apart from the tiny flare of magic that appeared on the corner of the bottom shelf, Harry found himself unable to get past Dumbledore's enchantments, not that he had expected to.

_I am most deeply regretful Harry…but you must carry on… You must see our mission to its end, for you have paid a great and terrible price to keep it going until now, and the heavenly- the heavens know you must pay more. Remember my words Gellert, my great friend- Harry cannot learn of…'Desiderio vitae meae'! Say the words and destroy the box! Next to the pensieve- Gellert, you must! You must make sure Harry never finds that box, you must make sure he never learns the truth. I can see now that it was a folly- perhaps my most foolish one to keep those memories intact...This, he will never understand. Gellert, when Ariana goes to sleep, I will tell Aberforth we are leaving. It is for her own good, we will make the world a better place for witches and wizards, free…_Dumbledore's last words, before they had landed on the Astronomy Tower, rang through his mind once more. He had understood little of what the headmaster was speaking.

_Gellert who? Grindelwald? Dumbledore's great friend? _It seemed unlikely to him. A part of him had been certain the Headmaster had gone insane under the potion's effects. _And who the hell are Aberforth and Ariana? _He realized he knew so little about Dumbledore's personal life, despite being the student who got the most time with him. A pang of guilt struck his heart, and immense regret rose within him. _So much time spent together, and all of it spent preparing for war._

_'Desiderio vitae meae'!_

The words rang through his mind again, and on a whim, he said them aloud, but to his dismay, nothing happened. _It seemed like a…_He tried again, trying a pronunciation similar to what Dumbledore had murmured. On his third try, he uttered it correctly, for there was a grinding noise and on the side of the bottom shelf, where the basin rested, space seemed to expand in on itself, if such a thing were possible. One moment, there had been nothing there, and the next moment, there was a wooden box with a roll of parchment above it. It hadn't appeared there out of thin air, not at least when he was looking. It was like it had always been there. On the parchment, even from where he stood, he could easily recognize Dumbledore's neat and tidy scrawl. His heart leapt to his mouth at the thought of the headmaster leaving behind a message for him. Had he known his days were numbered? Or was this a result of Dumbledore's usual meticulous planning and forethought? But that could not be, Harry realized. He knew the Headmaster had no plans to share the content of this box with him.

His hand reached for the note of his own accord. With hands trembling more than he would have liked to admit, Harry grasped the dry parchment, cut trimly into a rectangular shape. But the strength to unfurl the parchment wouldn't come.

"Go on, Harry," she whispered encouragingly.

The note had curled up on itself, and Harry straightened it out with his thumb. To his gnawing horror, the note held a paltry sum of two sentences. "_I wish you never have to see these Harry- may you never have to take on the burden of this insanity; and I fear what you may become if you do. Remember always, though, that I had your best intentions in my heart, but the fate of the Wizarding world needed me to do what I did."_

His throat felt dry, and a lump of fear settled in his stomach. Whatever Dumbledore had in store for him, it didn't bode well. The note slipped from his fingers, fluttering down to the floor.

"Do-um…do you think this is a good idea Harry?" She spoke shakily, as if afraid Harry might snap. "Dumbledore…. didn't really want you to…. go through them…"

It made Harry pause. What could the box contain that would make _him _worry about Harry's sanity? He took a moment to wonder if he was ready, and when Hermione called his name again, Harry didn't reply, instead responding by grabbing the box and yanking open the lid. Inside lay a thick vial, filled to the brim with swirling strands of memories. For a moment Harry hesitated, wondering if the memories belonged to Dumbledore himself- of some sin he had committed in his youth that had haunted him up to his final hours, then took out the vial, pulled the cork off and tumbled the contents into the basin.

He gave Hermione one last glance and found her staring at the memory strands floating in the basin apprehensively, before he grabbed the marble slab the pensieve was set in by his right hand, shifting his body to make space for her, and dived face first into the memory.

* * *

He was going to be sick. He was going to be sick enough for a lifetime. He vomited violently all over the carpet on the floor. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, and he couldn't figure out where all the _vomit_ was coming from. Even when the semi-liquid stopped pouring out of his aching throat, the retching didn't. His head swam with all the current of a hurricane, and his heart had given in to the monster within him. He lay there, on his arms and knees-…._ defeated- _in the office of the very man who had lived and breathed to ruin his life.

If this was the truth, he would rather be dead. When the retching didn't stop, Harry realized he was sobbing hysterically- he was screaming. His heart was beating so hard it was going to explode. Something was pulsing through his body with every beat of his heart, and for a moment, Harry was afraid he was going to die. Someone was laughing somewhere. Maybe it was the wind.

He collapsed into a puddle of bile and vomit- his own. Some part of him wanted to protest, to maintain his dignity in front of _her_, but his revulsion and hate and defeat were too heavy for him to keep his laden body off the floor. His body had given way to the cloud of _something _that had been building up in his gut- his face was red with rage, eyes as dead with fury as the ones he had been staring in not so long ago. He tried pushing himself up with his arms once, but they wouldn't respond. Eventually, amidst the wrecking sobs that refused to subside, Harry Potter gave in to the darkness.

* * *

Author's Note: Apologies for the short chapter, but this is where I felt I should end it. Now some of you may feel that if Dumbledore did not want Harry to find the box, he shouldn't have kept it with a letter on top addressed to Harry. But look at it this way, Dumbledore was burdened with guilt, and he never shared the contents of the box with any other person. A part of him wanted to be absolved of that guilt and confess to Harry what he did, for I have not shown Dumbledore to be a bad/evil character, merely a highly determined and '_will-do-what-it-takes'_ type. The Voldemort in this story will be more sinister and- well, more like the _most powerful Dark Lord_ the Wizarding world has ever seen.

Hope you liked it. Leave a review if you like!


	2. The Life and The Lies

Author's Notes- Here comes another chapter! It may get a bit confusing as two sets of characters are present at the same time in the same place. So allow me to clarify things at first- the characters mentioned in italics are the original characters viewing the memories, while the characters mentioned in normal font are the memory-versions of the characters. I hope that clears things up.

Go ahead and give it a go. Don't forget to leave behind a review.

* * *

His feet landed on the cold stones of Hogwarts, in the passage right outside of the entrance to the Gryffindor tower. Colors blurred together, sharpening within moments to form his surroundings, the walls getting detailed by the second, before finally the memory began. He could see himself, and that brought his cognition up short- whose memory was this? He looked younger, by at least a few years. Harry looked around the memory, trying to spot Dumbledore, or the person this memory belonged to. But young Harry was alone, with the exception of one other person- a young Hermione Granger_, _whose bushy brown hair was still wild_._ But the way the memory shifted and _flowed_\- Harry was sure the memory belonged to him.

Behind him, he felt _Hermione_ stiffen slightly at the younger image of herself. He realized this was the first time she was using a pensieve. "_Whose _memory is this Harry?"

_Harry_ took his time to answer, watching himself walk away from the tower and towards the grounds, the young Hermione following him. "I…I think it's mine...but I never gave any memories to Dumbledore…I don't know…" He quietened when he realized he didn't actually have any answers for her, just speculations. _Hermione_ opened her mouth as if to say something but quietened immediately when the memory was filled with the voices of their younger selves.

It was Harry who was speaking. He looked nervous and timid, and the top of his forehead was beaded with sweat. "I…uh, I wanted to talk to you about something, Hermione." Hermione, who had been busy going through a thin stack of parchments clutched in her hands, looked up with small surprise etched on her face. "Is it about the egg? Did you solve it?" Her eyes lit up with excitement, and _Harry_ realized the memory was from his fourth year. Strangely, _Harry_ himself had no recollection of this conversation ever taking place. The tremendous ache in his chest, the heaviness in his heart, and the knot in his throat subsided temporarily as he busied himself trying to remember the origins of the memory.

"Um…no. I, uh…actually…Hermione I-" The excitement in the girl's eyes had dimmed momentarily, before the brown orbs had focused on Harry's face. His younger self's nervousness was visible to _Harry_, and as he watched, something began to stir in the deepest recesses of Harry's mind, like a dream he had seen decades ago and forgotten when he had woken up.

"What is it Harry?" Hermione asked, stepping off a staircase, and walking towards the castle's giant doors.

The younger Harry however, remained quiet for a few long moments, sidestepping students- who passed through _Harry_ as if was a ghost, and glancing around to make sure they were alone. _Harry_ could tell that his younger self was trying to build up courage, and it made _Harry_ extremely nervous. _What did I have to say that made me so nervous? And why can't I remember any of this?_

"Harry", he heard _Hermione_ call from behind him, and when he turned around to look at her, the difference two years of growth had brought in her was blinding. "I don't remember this- I mean…sure, there must be dozens of conversations we've had over the years that I can't remember…. But this….it- I really can't…"

She looked worried, her meticulous mind couldn't place the memory, but somehow, it seemed familiar.

Just as _Harry_ was about to turn around to look at his younger self, he caught a look on Hermione's face. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, and her brow furrowed. "Hermione…" He heard his fourth-year shadow speak and turned to look at him.

But the boy was looking at the younger Hermione with something akin to wonder, as if he was seeing her for the first time. _Harry_ wondered if that was how his face looked every-time he saw _Hermione._

"Harry, what is it? You're scaring me a little- are you alright?"

Younger Harry merely nodded at her question, then took a deep breath, stopping in his tracks, and taking Hermione by the elbow to halt her too.

It was a cold day in Hogwarts, and the sun was about to set. Twilight fell across their faces, falling through the open doors and into the Entrance Hall, and _Harry_ realized Hermione looked beautiful, even two years ago she had been all he could see. As the memory progressed, something started awakening in his mind, and _Harry_ felt himself remembering the fringes of the memory. He felt himself remembering this conversation, as if a veil was slowly being lifted from a part of his brain.

And then came the realization of where this memory was leading- both by his younger self's nervousness and his recollection of what went through his mind back in those days, and by the pieces of remembrance that had begun to slide into place in his mind. The coldness in his body that had drowned him without rhyme or reason seemed to flee and was replaced by mortification. He started a bit, hoping to stifle the words that would erupt out of his younger self's mouth, but stopped short when he realized it was just a memory and these events had already happened.

Young Harry straightened his back a little, and looked his friend in the eyes, all nervousness suddenly gone, warmth and adoration clearly visible on his face. "Will you go to the Yule ball with me Hermione?"

_Harry _felt his world sink. His secret was out, or if it wasn't yet, he was sure it would be. His heart was gripped with fear, and his eyes were now fixed at the younger Hermione, trying to gauge her reaction, afraid of finding anger, disgust or revulsion.

_Harry _felt _Hermione_ step forward to stand beside him even as time seemed to come to an abrupt halt. He felt a sharp spike in his head, as the memory started coming back. The pained expression on _Hermione's_ face told him she was remembering it too. Then the words Harry had spoken _sunk_. And even though her mouth was hidden behind her hands, there was no mistaking her open mouth, flooded with shock, and the gasp of pure surprise that had flooded her face. Her eyes went wide and for a few moments, she stared at the younger Harry as if was unreal.

Young Hermione had, rather comically, a similar reaction. She was staring at Harry with open shock. Her eyes were wide and disbelieving. The two stared at each other for a while, and young Harry's previously found bravado had started to flee. _Harry _found himself and _Hermione _rather speechless, bereft of any thought except the frustrating realization that they could not remember this.

A few moments passed, and _Harry _was beginning to worry that the memory was botched, when the younger Harry spoke, "Her-Hermione?"

The girl seemed to jump slightly, realizing she was supposed to answer. Ever so slowly, she lowered her hands, before finding her confidence. She looked Harry in the eye, before her mouth fell open but no words came out. Instead, her eyes shone with unshed tears. Both Harrys jolted into action, trying to figure out furiously what had upset their friend. But _Harry _stopped himself after a step, remembering that there was nothing he could do.

And even before the younger Harry could do or say something, Hermione blinked away her tears and spoke, "Y-Yes Harry." Her face split open in a grin, and she began nodding so furiously, _Harry_ was surprised she didn't pull a muscle.

And that was when _Harry _saw it happen. The unmistakable shape of a house-elf materialized behind the two fourth-years, appearing from behind one of the suits of armors, its bat like ears flapping wildly. The elf had the bearings of a male-elf, with large grey eyes, the same pale skin as Dobby, a pencil like nose, giant bat like ears, and a clean red pillowcase. The elf had grey wisps of hair that had been combed neatly to the side. Without giving them a moment to react- or even become aware of his presence, the elf snapped the fingers on his right hand twice, and the two teens collapsed, stunned- eyes open and seeing, yet unable to move.

"WHAT THE HELL!"

Harry wanted to pinch himself to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. He had just witnessed a house-elf attack him and Hermione, all part of a memory he could barely remember, and then he had witnessed Hermione swear. He wanted to turn around and ask her if she was alright, but nothing made sense anymore. Besides, he had no explanation for what they were witnessing, only more questions.

The elf, however, wasn't finished with them. It stepped forwards and put a hand on both of their immobile bodies; in the blink of an eye they were all gone.

They reappeared inside a very familiar office- the same office they were currently standing in, bent at the waist, heads dipped in a pensieve.

The office in the memory was the same as the office they had stepped in, but still vastly different. This office was full of life, teeming with energy. Various silver instruments spun on their stands, some making metallic chirps, others letting out puffs of smoke at odd intervals. The portraits on the walls were busy socializing, some moving to each other's frames, others choosing to shout at each other from the comfort of their own frames. Fawkes stood upon its bird stand in full bloom, singing in short tones to itself.

And behind the large table, bent over in parchments and books, stood Albus Dumbledore, alive and well- both arms perfectly healthy, but looking as grandfatherly as ever. At the elf's appearance, the headmaster looked up, hand twitching towards where his wand lay on the table, before a look of recognition passed on his face and he straightened up. His face turned grave at the sight of the two bodies the elf had brought to his office. The twinkle in his blue eyes was gone, replaced by icy coldness.

"What happened Gimble?" His voice had an underlying steel to it now, and Harry realized this was the Dumbledore who had defeated Grindelwald, the only wizard who scared Lord Voldemort. He walked over to where the elf stood.

"Master Albus told Gimble to bring the Potter boy and the Granger girl if they ever began to get _close_. Gimble has been following the Potter boy ever since he came to Hogwarts this year."

_Harry_ felt the biting cold return with full force. An icy point of despair and misery bloomed in his chest, and it began to spread to the very tips and toes of his body. Surely this was not right. This made no sense. _Maybe Voldemort did this._ Or Snape, it had to be Snape. Beside him, _Hermione_ let out a squawk of confusion and dismay. "What is this all about Harry?"

But _Harry_ still had no answers for her- and now, even his questions had fled- all that remained was despair.

Dumbledore's face lost its hardness in an instant, and the coldness was now replaced by a sad pity. "And I suppose they were beginning to see each other as more than friends?" He left the statement hanging as a question. His words confused the surprisingly well-behaved elf. "Master Albus? Gimble does not know how that happens…" The elf tilted his head to the right, as if it did not understand the dynamics Dumbledore was referring to. "Harry Potter asked the girl to the ball. The girl said yes. Gimble thought Master Albus wouldn't like that, so Gimble brought them to you. Did Gimble do wrong?"

The headmaster gave the elf a reassuring look, "Not at all Gimble. You did well…The two were headed in this direction for some time now…very well…."

_Harry_ felt his mind reach its limit- he could no longer make sense of what was happening. His knees gave out and he sank. When he finally managed to sit, _Hermione_ made her way over to him, choosing to sit beside him. Her face was streaked with tears, and the only prominent emotion on her face was _rage_.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and the two bodies floated to an upright position, their eyes fixed on the old wizard.

"I had hoped that it would not come to this Harry. But of course, I was and still remain a fool, despite all my accomplishments." Evidently, the headmaster was talking to the immobile students now. "I wish Harry…" Dumbledore let loose a long and heavy sigh, leaning sideways against the wall to his left. To _Harry's _bewilderment, Dumbledore looked genuinely sad. "I wish you could have led a normal life Harry. I wish you could have had the things people your age have. I just…" The headmaster seemed to be struggling for words.

"I let Sirius rot in Azkaban for twelve years Harry, and I just cannot let that go to waste. Maybe one day, you and Miss Granger will be able to enjoy a life as you wish…but until the threat of Tom Riddle has passed-"

The headmaster was interrupted by the _very_ rude baritone of Phineas Black, whose portrait hung on the wall beside his desk. "Just how will this help your crusade against the Dark Lord Dumbledore? Stop being ridiculous! You let my descendant rot in Azkaban- and regardless of how worthless that lad is, he is a Black! And all these years- I've watched you play with _this_ wretch's life- I've watched you try and kill him year after year- for _this! _You're playing with his life for Merlin's sake Albus! I wi-"

"ENOUGH!" The headmaster roared, and it was the first time _Harry_ had seen the old man so angry. "I do what must be done for the greater good Phineas! You and I both know what the boy is- you were the one who suggested his precarious position. You were the one who brought to light the real trouble."

_Harry _stared in absolute confusion- _what the fuck are they- what the fuck is this?_

The angry portrait snorted in derision. "Indeed, it was I! And yet I do not see what it is you gain by this! Do not forget Albus, I also told you how you can free him. I've been tel-"

"You'd have me make him a murderer! We have had this argument countless times Phineas, and I do not want to suffer through it again." Dumbledore gave the man in the portrait a long hard look.

"Very well Albus, if you deem the life of an innocent child less worthy than the lives of mass murderers and terrorists…then who am I to stop the great and mighty Albus Dumbledore-" Whatever else the portrait had to say was drowned under the headmaster's silencing charm. Dumbledore turned to face the floating students only to find the girl's eyes filled with horror. Silent tears were dripping down her face. Dumbledore gave her a bland look.

"It is nothing short of impossible at your age, Miss Granger, to understand the necessity of the things I've had to do, and so I will not attempt to explain myself to you, not that I find myself inclined to. Just know…if you must, that I cannot let Harry be…part of anything that will make his final task difficult to accomplish. I cannot tell you how much it pains me to do this…I think of myself as a monster often…"

And then Albus Dumbledore raised his wand, pointing it at the immobile Hermione, "_Obliviate!"_

_Harry _felt something within him snap. Maybe it was his sanity, or maybe it was his soul, but the cold had finally become too much. _What is this? What the fuck is this?_ Something acidic was bubbling deep in his throat, and he was finding it hard to remember his own name. _Perhaps, Harry _wondered, _perhaps I am still in the cave- buried amongst the inferius, and this is all a dream. _But it was the girl sitting on his right, with an iron grip on his arm, who reminded him that this was real. She was sobbing violently. But there was only one emotion evident on her teary face- _rage._

_"_Harry…I…" Dumbledore's wand was pointing at Harry's face, and the boy's eyes were filled with unmasked malice. The headmaster opened his mouth to cast the spell, but something seemed to be holding him back. They stood like that for a few moments, and every second felt like an hour to _Harry,_ sitting on the sidelines, watching his world being turned upside down, watching his trust being uprooted and being replaced with venom. The younger Harry, immobile, furious yet helpless, and the Headmaster, hesitant but sure.

"I…I know I am going to regret this Harry…but…I do not want to destroy _your_ memories…maybe someday you can have them back…though it seems unlikely, but I guess caring too much has always been a flaw."

The memory was back inside his head now, and Harry fully remembered the helplessness of being bound by the elf's magic- the rage that had flowed through his body- the utter confusion, the desire to set Dumbledore on fire. _This is how you care for me?_ Harry remembered how much he had struggled, though the elf's magic hadn't let it show- how deeply it had broken him to watch the headmaster _obliviate_ Hermione. _How did you hide all of that? How could I forget all of that?_

The wand tip touched Harry's temple, and when Dumbledore pulled it away, it was followed by a pearly white shimmering strand of Harry's memories. And it was then that Harry realized Dumbledore wasn't using his own wand- or at least, the wand he used normally. The wand was around fifteen inches long, with carvings that resembled clusters of elderberries running down its length. The headmaster conjured a flask and allowed the memory to settle in it.

He took a few steps back and raised the wand again. "_Confundus!"_

"Put them in their beds Gimble."

The memory swirled violently, disorienting _Harry _and _Hermione_, and the office was gone.

* * *

_Harry _had half expected the memories to end there. But instead of being uprooted from the pensieve, colors began to swirl around him, forming another scene. His mind, however, chose that moment to fully comprehend what he had witnessed seconds ago. His face felt numb, and the slightly uncomfortable feeling of _Hermione_ gripping his hand was but a distant memory- from _another life. _Another century, where _Harry Potter_ hadn't been broken. Where Albus Dumbledore had been just another person _Harry_ had cared for and lost to the Dark Lord. Where the wind wasn't ice cold and full of ashes.

He did not recognize the voice that left his parched lips, but he knew someone was crying- _wailing. _It was his sore and aching throat that told him it was him. His fists had been clenched so tightly his nails had left crescent marks on his palms, knuckles having turned a deathly white. Something was climbing up his throat, burning its way up, and despite the heat in his chest, despite the relentless sweat pouring off his forehead, his entire body was shivering with cold.

He could not feel _Hermione_, could not feel her presence anymore. His body refused to sense anything but the frost around him, and the poisonous colors swirling to form the next memory. _She said 'yes', and you fucking stole it from me!_ Icicles of rage gripped his heart, and the in that moment, Harry wanted to set fire to everything that lay within his sight.

He barely registered the next memory, watching in a daze, and it wasn't until he heard someone in the memory speak that his attention fell to it. The memory, once again, belonged to him, but this time, he wasn't surprised that he was unable to remember any of it. "D-do you remember this Hermione?" His voice was so raspy _Harry_ barely recognized it as his own.

_Hermione_ took a long moment to answer, "I don't think so, Harry. What has Dumbledore been doing to us?" She had spoken amongst sobs, and _Harry_ wished he had not wrought this upon her.

They were on the shores of the Black Lake. For a moment, _Harry_ found himself unable to tell which year the memory belonged to; then he spotted his bleeding fist, the words '_I must not tell lies' _etched into his skin. _Fifth year then,_ he mused. It seemed he had just returned from one of Umbridge's detentions. His face was as easy to read as ever- anger and frustration dancing away merrily. Ron was standing a bit to the side, arguing with Neville about something. Hermione stood beside him, worry and care emanating from the frown on her face.

"Harry…" Hermione put a hand on her shoulder, and _Harry_ saw, out of the corner of his eye, Ron drift away, dragged by Neville to the other end of the shore, where Fred and George stood, laughing amongst themselves, probably at Neville's expense.

"I'm fine Hermione," fifth year Harry grumbled. _Harry_ had a flashback of the stress and frustration he carried around in fifth year- not that any of those things had lessened over the years, but back then he had distanced himself from everyone- even _Hermione._

"I know you are not Harry, but I won't push you to talk for once. I hope you know you can always come to me if there is ever anything you need to talk about…or um- you know, just anything." She waited until Harry nodded, then removed her hand from his shoulder. She looked around, and realizing that Ron was no longer with them, looked back at Harry with a small smile.

"I still have my History of Magic essay to finish, but I was…uh- I was thinking um-" Hearing Hermione stutter was something so novel and rare that Harry forgot some of his anger at Umbridge. He looked at Hermione, a wary look on his face. "Yes?"

"Well, walk with me?" She asked, uncertainly, fidgeting and playing with her fingers. She looked nervous, and Harry couldn't for the life of him guess what she wanted to talk about. He gave her a nod and let her lead the way. They began a slow walk around the lake, in the direction opposite to the one Ron and Neville had left in, and miraculously _Harry_ found the strength to rise and follow them. It took him some time to realize that _Hermione_ had risen with him, and was walking close beside him, her arm looped through his, and face covered in fresh tears. He watched her wipe her running nose on her sleeve, before his eyes sought out the Hermione in front of him. From where her arm was touching his, a warmth had begun to spread, and the icy hunger within him had started thawing a bit. They walked a hurried pace, until they were walking right next to the two fifth years, eyes glued to their faces.

Harry gave her a few moments to talk, choosing to walk in companionable silence. "We have a Hogsmeade weekend coming this week, Harry." She spoke suddenly, as if she had suddenly worked up the willpower to say whatever she had on her mind.

"Yeah…um, yes, we do," said Harry, still unsure of where this was headed.

Hermione nodded to herself, then took a deep breath. "Would you like to go to Hogsmeade- uh, with me?" Her cheeks were pink and flushed, and _Harry _realized she was blushing. Then her words registered. Beside him, _Hermione_ gasped loudly (_Harry _thought it was more a shriek). "I didn't," she muttered, exasperated. _Harry _turned to give her a look. A warmth he had not known before bloomed inside of him- a fluttering in his stomach he had never known before. His vision swam a crescent, and _Hermione _wouldn't meet his eyes. _Both of them are blushing,_ he thought, _and it looks good on both of them._

But this was unbelievable to _Harry._ _Hermione_ had asked him on a _date_? If his world hadn't almost ended a mere minutes ago, _Harry Potter _would have swooped with joy. For over three years he had pined for her, watched her bloom from beside her, wished and begged his fates to make the impossible happen. And always, he had told himself that she didn't see him _that _way- her friendship would suffice; _always _he had told himself, that it was better this way. But it had never been enough- and everyday he hungered for her, watched her smile- treasured _her_ smiles- even though they weren't for him. _And she asked me out._

"I don't remember this," he spoke, and there-in he realized, lay the problem. _Hermione_ finally looked at him, for the fleetest of moments, a runaway shard of time caught in buffeting winds, blown away before he could fully comprehend it, but there was warmth in those eyes, the chocolaty orbs swirled with emotion. And _Harry melted._ His shivering stopped.

It seemed, the younger Harry was slow on the uptake, and it took him a few moments to actually understand what Hermione had meant. "Oh!" He stopped in his tracks, cheeks reddening. "Like…on a-like on a date?" His voice cracked at the end, bursting with disbelief, and _Harry _cringed. _You lame fuck._

Harry's emerald eyes were wide, fixed on Hermione. "Uh…yes, Harry. I mean- if you want to? We can always go as friends." Hermione was looking anywhere but at him.

"No," Harry spoke, grinning like he had won a million galleons, "a date sounds nice."

"Okay!" said Hermione, equally pleased, finally meeting his eyes with a large smile on her face. Almost on cue, _Harry _heard the almost silent _pop!_ The elf appeared from behind the students, and with twin snaps of his fingers, struck them down again. The elf looked around, checking for possible witnesses- finding none, it nodded grimly to itself.

"NO!" _Harry_ shouted, albeit stupidly, but it was evident to him why he did not remember what _Harry_ thought of as one of the most important conversations of his life. Within the next second, they were again hovering in the headmaster's office, unable to budge an inch. The portraits were empty this time, and the Headmaster was unwrapping a lemon drop for himself. Upon seeing Gimble, the Headmaster sighed heavily, recognizing what had occurred. "What happened Gimble?"

"They wanted to go on a…Gimble thinks Miss Granger said …on a date?" The elf tugged on its ears twice, before continuing, "Gimble brought them to Master Albus."

Albus Dumbledore nodded serenely, "This is...it seems they genuinely like each other…for them to…" He gave another sigh, "I wish I could…Very well."

He didn't address the petrified students, didn't look them in their confused and scared eyes this time. He raised the same mysterious wand from before, obliviated Hermione again, and pulled the memory from Harry's head. "Maybe one day, you will have what you wish for Harry…but that day is worlds afar."

_"Confundus!"_

* * *

By now,_ Harry _was numb…almost as if something within him was dying. This constant cycle of Dumbledore's betrayal…of getting to hold that which he desired the most, only to have it so ruthlessly snatched away…again and again by the person he would last expect to- Harry potter was being broken bit by bit. _I had all I wanted, and you took it away. The one little semblance of peace and happiness I needed, and you- you…_ He was panting as if he had run a lap around the Black Lake, and he felt he was going to be sick. _This is the truth?_

He had expected to see Dumbledore's sins- to see Dumbledore messing up his own life. _These are his sins, _he realized. _He was playing with my life all along._

_Hermione _was _weeping_. _Harry_ had a hard time not turning to her and exiting the cursed pensieve. There was a monster battering his ribcage from within- a mythical mix of some ferocious ivory dragon and an obsidian basilisk, teeth bared and mouth frothing and spitting vitriol, roaring to be unleashed upon the world.

Neither of them was left with any words to say- neither of them capable of consoling the other.

The next memory, as the colors swirled to realize, was a contrast to the first two- Harry was alone, and he was in a small room. He looked scruffy, there were bags and dark circles under his puffy red eyes, and a he looked in need of a shave. His hair, wild as ever, was slick with sweat. His clothes, drenched with sweat, stuck to his body, and his eyes were open yet unseeing. He sat on the floor, slumped against the foot of the bed, the room an utter mess.

His Hogwarts trunk lay shut a few steps away, and the bed was in a complete disarray.

_Harry _recognized this, even if he did not recognize the memory. And he dreaded it. He dreaded it almost as much as he dreaded what had caused it.

_Hermione_ stopped crying to see what had made Dumbledore steal this memory from Harry. Then she looked around the room. It was barely enough for a person to live in, falling short of being called a proper room. She wanted to say something about it but chose to keep quiet. She didn't have the sense of what to speak- and at the moment, she was afraid she would do more harm than good.

_SMACK!_

The sound reverberated in the tiny room, and _Hermione _jumped a little. _Harry _merely hung his head in shame, wishing desperately for the memory to end. _How many secrets did he take from me? Was my life ever mine to live?_

Harry had slapped himself. _Hermione _stared in shock, first at the Harry that belong to the memory, and then at the _Harry_ that stood beside her. Her mouth had fallen agape.

_SMACK!_

They watched Harry stare at his hand, as if the damage it as doing was not satisfactory. A bruise was forming on his cheek, in the shape of his hand. A wild gleam appeared in his eyes, an abhorrent taste to the franticness. And then, Harry's eyes fell on his Hogwarts trunk. For a moment, all was quiet, and _Harry _and _Hermione_ stood in utter silence, wondering with gnawing fear how the younger Harry would proceed. Then he leapt forward, swinging the trunk's lid open in one smooth motion, before his hands were rummaging in the confines of the trunk. And then, after a few seconds of hectic searching, Harry pulled back and dropped against the bed again.

In his hand, he held a silver knife.

_Hermione _gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. "_NO! No, Harry n- No!"_

She turned to him, reaching out to grab his shoulder and turn him around to face her, but _Harry_ turned away, shame filling his face. When Sirius had died, _Harry_ had often come close to killing himself- the guilt was too much to live with, but to see that he had actually attempted it- _Harry_ was flooded with disgust and shame- five hundred twisted shades of it.

Harry took the silver knife to his wrist, digging it so deep a droplet of blood appeared instantly. He took a few deep breaths, preparing to slice his wrist open. Then a look passed his face, and he brought the knife up to his throat, digging the knife next to his jugular. Outside the room, a deathly quietness reigned, the entirety of Privet Drive was smothered in the summer heat and its silence. A few sounds managed to make their way upstairs, but it was clear the Dursleys had no idea of what Harry was up to in his room. Tears ran down his face, and his heaving breaths shook his underfed frame. Before he could slice the knife and end his life, a thought struck him, and he leapt up once more, hands pilfering through his trunk and coming back with piece of thick paper. _Hermione_ stood up on her toes, leaning her head to the side to see what it was.

It was a photo. A wizarding photo- of Harry, Hermione and Ron. He held the photo in his left hand, eyes stuck to the girl in the middle, and brought the blade once more to his throat.

"Oh Harry," she was crying once again, but these were dry sobs she was heaving, there weren't any tears left in her. _Harry_ hated the fact that she was watching this, hated himself for ever having done it, hated himself for making _her _cry. Mortification and humiliation gripped him, and he wished he _had _died back then, for he could not face _Hermione _ever again. Not after this.

And then came the elf.

_Harry_ was almost expecting it this time. Dumbledore's office was once more in its usual lively state, though a majority of the paintings were asleep. He watched in silence as Gimble explained the situation he had found Harry in. Dumbledore's face darkened, and it gave _Harry_ some form of perverse satisfaction to see horror and fear dawn on his face. _This is where your care led Dumbledore!_

"You did a very good thing today Gimble- if Harry had succeeded," the old man shuddered, "all would have been lost."

Dumbledore retrieved his _other _wand again, from within the depths of his robes, choosing to ignore his own wand, the one that _Harry_ recognized, lying on the desk. The portrait of Phineas Black broke out into a furious monologue, berating the old wizard with anatomical descriptions _Harry_ had a hard time imagining, but a wandless silencing charm was enough to quell its voice.

Dumbledore came close to the petrified wizard lying on the ground, eyes staring at the ceiling. There was anger in his eyes this time around instead of guilt and regret, and _Harry_ wondered if the latter two had ever been genuine, or if the man was trying to convince himself. "What were you thinking Harry? Your time will come my boy…one day, you will have to sacrifice your life, but…but not like this- you're not going to lay my plans to ruin Harry. For the sake of the wizarding world and your own." The headmaster's tone was gentle, albeit chiding, but _Harry_ didn't care. _Sacrifice?_ _You wanted me to die? After everything- you motherfu- this was your grand plan? To kill me?_

His vision swam, and something acidic rose in his chest. _Harry _retched _violently, _falling to his knees, coughing- tears running down from his eyes. The monster in his chest was positively thrashing now, and for a moment _Harry _couldn't tell what was beating against his ribs so frantically. Maybe _something _was indeed trying to break free from within him. Nothing made sense anymore- nothing was real anymore. And _Harry_ didn't know who to trust anymore. All that was left was zombies- for men and women had betrayed him- rummaged within him and fled with what they had found.

Where did he go from a _here_? And who would walk with him to wherever he would stumble to? Was his only purpose in this world to wither away- while Dumbledore tested the best and _grandest_ of his plans? Was his only fate to suffer, and never find solace? Would his misery even matter? Would his chaos even count? He dimly remembered _Hermione, _but she was too far lost in the recesses of her own mind for _Harry_ to reach in his current state. _Where do all the stars go, Harry?_

Within seconds, Dumbledore had pulled the memory out of Harry, and confounded him.

"Administer him a calming drought Gimble, then take him back. And keep a closer watch on him…We can't afford another incident like this."

* * *

To their horror, there was _more. _The colors shifted, swirling around them in grotesque patterns, before settling to form the headmaster's office again.

And _Harry's _blood ran cold. Hate bubbled up within him- for Severus Snape sat opposite Albus Dumbledore, locked in a somber discussion. They each held a crystal tumbler, filled with an amber colored liquid. And if it wasn't for the sight of Albus Dumbledore's murderer, Harry would not have found the strength to pay attention to the memory. The office was lit with the light from the fire cackling away in the fireplace. Outside the office, snow fell through dark skies, and a storm howled away. _Harry _realized with a start that it was Severus Snape's memory he was watching.

"It is, I suppose, time for you to come clean with me, Albus," Severus spoke, taking a small sip of his drink. "You know of Draco's task- his _impossible _task." He waited for the old wizard to nod, "Then you know the Dark Lord intends to make his move soon." Again, he paused for the headmaster's acknowledgement. Dumbledore gave another small nod.

"And you are sure you won't share your plans with me?" There was contempt in Snape's voice, something Dumbledore did not miss. "You know what you have asked of me Albus- once I do it- once I _kill_ you- the Dark Lord will know no limits; his poison will know no cure. Potter is barely capable to fight his minions, and you expect to leave this on his feeble shoulders?"

The headmaster responded by waving his wand, and a lemon drop rose from the bowl on his desk and floated towards the dark-haired man sitting opposite him. Snape responded by plucking the candy from the air in front of his face and flinging it with a snarl into the fireplace. Dumbledore merely chuckled, unwrapping a lemon drop for himself.

He finished his own drink in one long sip and leaned back in his chair. At long last, he spoke. "We both know this body is at the end of its journey, Severus. The curse will kill me within the month, I'd rather die at the wand of an old friend. And if we can save young Mr. Malfoy- well I say all the better."

The words did not affect _Harry_ as they should have- he was _numb._ _It was all planned. _He could almost imagine Snape sitting somewhere in a dark room, amongst his books and potions, or surrounded by Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, laughing at Harry's rage. _It was all planned. And I've been the fool._

"And what of Potter? He seems…attached", the potions master spoke the word with distaste, "to you."

Dumbledore smiled. "Harry will know what to do- he has his own path in front of him. No doubt, he will attack you- and the Order of the Phoenix will brand you as a traitor, but we have discussed that already. You are a skilled wizard Severus, and few can hope to best you in a duel. But no harm must come by your wand to any of the order members- especially Harry. Which brings me to why I summoned you here tonight. There will come a time…" Dumbledore trailed off, eyes looking far away, staring unseeing into the fire. A dark expression settled over his face.

When he did not speak for some time, Severus prompted him. "Yes?"

The old wizard sighed; he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "There will come a time when Voldemort will seek to protect his snake… Nagini. He will go to great lengths, to keep the snake safe… when that time comes Severus… and not a minute before… Tell Harry that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort's soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsed building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort's mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die."

_Harry_ seemed to be watching the two men from one end of a long tunnel, they were so far away from him, their voices echoing strangely in his ears. The darkness within him had always known- and he heard maniacal laughter from within him, almost echoing in the tunnel. Maybe the fragment of Voldemort's soul was laughing at him, or maybe it was Dumbledore- laughing at him for thinking he would have a life beyond Voldemort. He couldn't be sure. Everything was shrouded in mist. _Have I ever been alive?_

"So the boy…the boy must die?" asked Snape quite calmly, but _Harry_ sensed something sinister rising within the Potions master.

"And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential."

Another long silence. Then Snape said, "I thought…all those years…that we were protecting him for her. For Lily."

"We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength," said Dumbledore, his eyes still tight shut. "Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth. Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort.

"I tried to arrange this very confrontation in his first year- to have Voldemort do what was necessary…and again in second year…I let the basilisk have a run at the lad, but the boy was too resourceful. Maybe his fate was calling him somewhere else. But yes, since then, since he slew the monster of Salazar, we have protected him, raised him so that he could be the sword that would rid us of Voldemort."

"You did _WHAT_?"

Dumbledore opened his eyes. Snape looked horrified.

"I have kept him alive so that-…that you can _play_ with his life! So that he can die at the right moment- when you deem it so?"

"Don't be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?"

"Lately, only those whom I could not save," said Snape. He stood up. "You have used me."

"Meaning?"

"I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter's son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter – that you tried to kill him!"

"But this is touching, Severus," said Dumbledore seriously. "Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?"

"For him?" shouted Snape. "_Expecto Patronum!_"

From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe. She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded, he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were slightly wet, and twinkling in the firelight.

"After all this time?"

"Always," said Snape. He took a step away from the Headmaster's desk. "True, I've watched a lot of men die- women too," he continued, and for the first time, _Harry _saw Severus Snape truly angry, "but tonight, I will watch you die."

He drew his wand with lightning fast speed, a curse flowing past his lips before the wand was even pointing at the headmaster. But Dumbledore's countenance remained calm, leaping from his chair, wand deflecting the curse back at Snape who raised a shield to absorb it. _Harry_ had rarely seen magic cast so efficiently, and for once in his life, he actually wanted Snape to win at something. Snape summoned the chair behind Dumbledore, transforming it into a barbed wire, but Dumbledore wrestled it away from under Snape's control, and transformed it back into a chair, using wandless magic to deposit the chair into a corner of the room, while maintaining an impenetrable shield with his other.

"_Avada Ke-" _Snape's killing curse was interrupted when the headmaster banished the chair Snape had occupied mere minutes ago in Snape's direction- followed by a pair of over-powered stunners. Snape had to abandon his curse and conjure a shield.

"Do not be foolish, Severus. You swore a magical oath to follow my orders. Don't make me use it against you- your magic will kill you!" Dumbledore raised his voice, but Snape ignored his warning.

"I will not let you kill him Albus! You will-" He had begun to fire multiple spells in succession, before Dumbledore gave a resigned sigh, and pointing his wand in the general direction of Snape, muttered,_ "Peribit propter proditione!"_

The effect was instantaneous. Snape's body jerked to a stop halfway through a curse, at an awkward angle. He gave a jerk, as if he had been pushed, then another- before his mouth opened in a heart-rending scream. The potions master fell to his knees, clutching at his chest, body jerking every few seconds as if he was in a fit. His agony was unbearable, his own magic having been turned against him.

Dumbledore didn't seem troubled by Snape's current predicament, nor by the fact the man was trying to murder him. But even still, _Harry_ watched him let Snape suffer for a few moments, before he pointed his wand at Snape, and intoned, _"Abolitio conceditur!"_ The jerking stopped, and after a few moments, the screaming stopped too. Snape's magical punishment had ended at Dumbledore's command, but the trace of the pain still lingered in the former's chest. Snape lay heaving deep breaths, unable to comprehend the pain he had just been doused with.

Dumbledore waited until Snape was able to sit up, wheezing and rubbing his chest, before he spoke. "There is no other way Severus, you have to trust me, like you have trusted me all these years."

But Severus Snape was not listening- he raised his wand again, hand shaking and in no shape to duel, resorting to darker and nastier curses. "_Sectumsempra!" _The curse missed Dumbledore by inches, but whether it was by Snape's skill that it got so close, or Dumbledore's prowess that it missed him, _Harry _couldn't tell- probably the latter. Dumbledore sent another stunner, but Snape merely flicked it into the dusty carpet.

"You have used me! And for what? To lead _her _child to his death!" Spittle flew from his mouth as he spat curse after curse at Dumbledore, who merely absorbed them with his shields, or flicked them back lazily at the furious man. But when a curse ricocheted off Dumbledore's shield and smashed into Fawkes's stand, splitting it into two halves, Dumbledore decided he had had enough.

"_ENOUGH!_" His voice boomed loud and heavy, and Snape's shields dissolved under the intensity of Dumbledore's will, the former crumbling into a heap, wand rolling away mid-curse.

Dumbledore hadn't even broken a sweat.

He twirled his wand into a spiral, and Snape's immobile body rose into the air, hovering still for a second before he was dumped unceremoniously onto a hastily conjured chair. Snape's dark eyes followed the headmaster as he moved to stand in front of him. "Why Severus? I took you for a smarter man- at least smarter than _this._ You must have known you couldn't defeat me- even if I had a blindfold on. All I need to leave you incapacitated is say a few words. Your oath will not allow you to betray me. Do not test me again Severus- you will find I am still the wizard who bested Gellert Grindelwald."

Dumbledore sighed again, leaning back against his desk. "I had thought you would understand. Harry Potter was never important to you Severus, merely the fact that he was the child of Lily Evans. And so, what do you care if he lives or dies? Tom _must_ die- you and I both know that, and if Harry must put down his own life, heart wrenching as the thought is to me, then yes, for the greater good, I have raised the child to be killed- though I never saw it that way."

Dumbledore flicked his wand, and the petrification was lifted from Snape's head, but the rest of his body stayed still as a statue. Snape stayed silent, and as the seconds passed, a lone tear ran down his left cheek.

"I wish it was me, wish it was anyone but Harry. But the fates have willed it so- the prophecy wills it so. I've spent years planning- researching- committing heinous acts Severus, just so Harry can defeat Tom. All that effort, all that hard work…all _this _guilt- this heavy burden- this filth I carry…you think it's easy? You think I want Harry to die?"

Dumbledore's' face shriveled up in cruel anger- derisive and furious, the wrinkles etching a tale of fury and malevolence. _Harry_ had _never _seen the old wizard like this- so full of anger and righteousness. "The things I've done- what do _you_ know of guilt Severus. I've done such despicable things Severus, that I have no qualms about where I am headed once you kill me. The road to hell, Severus… the road to hell…" Dumbledore's tone had changed dramatically, and suddenly, he wasn't talking to Severus, his tone was now laden with mania. He was _confessing_, but not to Snape. _Harry_ wasn't sure Dumbledore was mentally in the same room as Snape anymore. But tears were running down his wrinkled cheeks, and in between his monologues, he was mumbling to himself.

"I made Harry live with his muggle relatives, so he would be broken when he came into the wizarding world, so the comfort Hogwarts gave him would make Hogwarts his home. For ten years, the boy lived in a cupboard under the stairs Severus," the headmaster snorted darkly, as if he still could not believe that family could be so cruel, "and I am to blame for that. Minerva told me they weren't fit to live with pigs, but I forced them upon Harry anyway…Sirius would have never allowed it and so Sirius had to be out of the picture. I had my doubts...he was too obvious a choice for being the Potter's secret keeper, but by then my plan had already been made- the scar on Harry's forehead- the pure malice coming off of it- had given me all the warnings I needed.

"It was I who convinced Barty to skip a trial, and send Sirius to prison- not that he needed any convincing, I merely pulled the strings...and he made it happen. And years later, it was I who sent Molly to meet the boy at the station. She didn't know, of course, what my plans were- but she knew why she had been sent. I kept Harry from having a life Severus…"

_Was there any part of my life you did not fuck with Dumbledore?_ _Harry _felt the long tunnel was collapsing upon him- the bricks from the walls falling on top of him, burying him alive, and molten mortar filling in the crevices and the cracks. _It would have been better if Voldemort had killed me- did my parents die for this?_

"I kept him and Miss Granger apart, and it wasn't because of what she is. Her succubus nature has nothing to do with it- not that she has travelled down that path…she can hardly be called one as of now."

_WHAT THE UTTER FUCK?_ For the first time in quite some time, a thought- any thought, crossed his deadened state of consciousness. _WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BULLSHIT? A SUCCUBUS? HERM-HERMIONE IS A WHAT?_

And with herculean strength, he turned to look at her, but she was staring at him in abject mortification, face a mess, eyes puffed, as if her deepest secrets had been spilled- which _Harry_ surmised from the look on her face- they had. Red and sore, mouth open in a silent wail of indescribable agony, as if something within her had broken, and the pieces had fallen into an abyss, burning as they were swallowed by the darkness. And when they had resurfaced, they were not just _her_ pieces- she was something more, something darker. In her eyes, _Harry _could tell it was true, and that was enough to break another piece of him.

But Dumbledore was not done ruining him. "They would have been good- _great_ for each other, but I kept them apart. I kept Harry from having any meaningful relationship, any reason that would make him hesitate to walk down that path which he must, for if he does not…then everything is in vain. Tom cannot be defeated as long as Harry lives. It's the hardest choice a man must make- and if Harry has someone waiting for him to come back- to return from a path that only goes one way… Do you think he will make that choice?"

Dumbledore fell into a spell of silence then, staring into the fire, forgetting momentarily that Severus Snape was in front of him. Minutes had passed in stony, _bitter_ silence, when Snape finally spoke, "_Fuck you, Dumbledore!"_

Albus Dumbledore looked back at him, blue eyes wet and full of regret. Snape's words, full of vitriol seemed to have brought him back from wherever his mind has wandered off to. With a sudden clarity and preciseness, he pulled out his second wand, approaching Snape once more. "I of course, cannot allow you to remember all this. Voldemort must never know of this."

Snape's eyes widened in panic. "You would be foolish to obliviate me Albus- besides, there is no need for such extreme measures. I took a magical oath to follow your wishes, and I must do so, or my life is forfeit. But if you obliviate me, regardless of how skilled you are, you forget the Dark Lord is a master at the mind arts. He will know you took something."

Dumbledore's replying chuckle only served to heighten Snape's fright, "He will never know Severus- that is precisely why he fears me so. And even if he could have known, he would have never found out _what_ it was I took. Regardless, do not fret Severus, I still have a couple of tricks up my sleeve." He brandished his wand in front of Snape's eyes, making deliberate, gradual, wasteful movements, letting Snape's dark eyes linger on the wand. Snape's eyes narrowed, but he showed no signs of recognition. Dumbledore chuckled again, "Forgive me. Sometimes I forget the world still thinks of the wand as a myth."

It was then that Snape gave the reaction Dumbledore had earlier been hoping for. His eyes widened comically, and beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead. He began furious attempts at scrambling backwards from Dumbledore, but the only reaction his body gave was to shudder once. Wasting no further time, Dumbledore reached forward, and began plucking the memory out of Snape's head.

The memory gave a violent shudder, before it blurred, swirling in a cascade of colors, and the pensieve deposited _Harry_ and _Hermione_ into the Headmaster's office.

* * *

Author's Notes: That is all for Chapter 2! Leave your reviews and let me know if I messed up somewhere.


	3. Nothing you can say

Author's Note- The number of reviews has me a bit worried. But here is another chapter regardless. Enjoy!

A few of you do not know what a Futanari is, it seems, and that does not stop you from claiming that there was no warning about Hermione having a cock, despite it being mentioned in the very first Author's note. Well, here you go once more- "Hermione has a COCK!"

* * *

_He was running, faster than ever before, faster than he had ever ran in his entire life- and he had run a lot._ _The earthly scent of the Forbidden Forest filled his nose, twigs snapping underneath hasty feet falling over dead leaves and contorted roots. Behind him, something charged onwards, extirpating the trees unfortunate enough to fall in its path. Great thick trunks fell aside like broken toothpicks, and onwards the monstrosity charged._

_Harry was running out of breath but stopping for even a moment would gain his pursuer a lot of ground. And then suddenly, he ran into a brick wall. His head smacked into the mortar with all his momentum, and he fell backwards reeling. His head spun, and as he lay clutching his forehead on the damp forest floor, Harry saw the clouds split open far above the towering canopy by a huge green serpent coiling around a skull. His foot caught on a sturdy root, and the sky rushed up and past, the ground a blur as he tripped. _

_And then the earth opened into a toothy maw and swallowed him whole._

_Before he could fall, before he could feel the wind rush past him, he was standing on his feet in the dark. But he was not alone. Two people stood in front of him. To the left, the tall, pale and nose-less form of Lord Voldemort, crimson eyes fixed at Harry, naught but a smile on his face as he looked on with a patient smile, then beckoned him a hand, offering Harry to join his ranks or die._

_"I will make you great, Harry… I will give you your heart's desire… women, power, riches… I will give you immortality if you so choose, Harry…you can have your parents…you can save your friends. Everything you have lost- you will find once more if only… Come…. kneel by my side." Voldemort spoke much like a serpent, as if he was switching frequently between Parseltongue and English._

_On the right stood Albus Dumbledore, or some grotesque form of the dead Headmaster. The creature had the headmaster's face and torso, but it was fixed to the body of an acromatula, larger than Aragoog. In his hand, he held a double-sided scythe. He stood silent, but his blue eyes pierced through Harry._

_The figure did not break the silence of the dark, and as Harry watched, a lone tear fell out of Dumbledore's left eye, before he moved forward in a leap so quick Harry didn't see it and brought down the scythe upon his neck._

Harry woke with a start, hands rushing up to protect his neck from the strike that was never coming. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he was sweating profusely. His body shook, mind flooding with memories he had recently remembered, and despite the sweat, a bitter brisk cold crept upon him. Something was splitting apart inside his chest, and Harry felt nausea engulf him. His ears were ringing, and his head ached something fierce. His body felt heavy, as if he were drowning. Maybe he was. Maybe he had. Maybe if Voldemort ever bothered to check amongst the _Inferi _in his lake_, _he would find the wrinkled rotten body of Harry Potter, eyes cloudy and white, staring into a plane Voldemort never would.

Everything around him was so dark, a lone lamp sat on the bedside table, and Harry felt things moving in the shadows it cast. How much time had passed? How long ago was it since he had collapsed in Dumbledore's office? Hours? Days? Years? Or was he still there? It seemed unlikely. _Everything is shaking too much. _

Or someone was shaking him, he couldn't really tell. He was at the end of a long dark tunnel, and whatever they were saying seemed to bounce around the curved walls a million times before it reached him- in no way comprehensive. Something was pushed against his lips, a bitter thick liquid, and Harry wondered briefly if it was poison.

_Sounds good to me._

_Where do all the stars go Harry? _The liquid filled his mouth, and Harry almost spit it back out, revolted by the taste, but he found he couldn't move much of his body. And then he was rushing deeper into the tunnel, the walls of darkness closing around him.

His head hit the pillow, and he passed into dreamless sleep.

When he came to, he was on fire. Or at least, it felt so. Something cold was churning within him, yet his body was burning up. His bed was warm and wet. His body ached all over, and his head felt as if it would split open. His throat was parched and sore, resonating with a bitter after-taste, and he desperately wished for some water.

For a split second, his eyes didn't open, then they were met by darkness. A lone candle burnt at his bedside, and he lay wondering why he was drenched. His body was stiff, as if he had been asleep for a long time, and the room was unbearably cold, making his teeth chatter. He had no recollection of where he was, and how he got here. The last thing he remembered was collapsing in Dumbledore's office. Just the thought of the late wizard's name brought bile in his throat. He sat up in a sudden movement, coughing and retching,

His throat was on fire- almost as if someone had scrubbed it with dry sandpaper. He looked around, trying to find some water to drink, but he wasn't wearing his glasses, and the room was too dark for him to see anything. Suddenly, a glass of water was pushed in front of his face. The action startled him, so much that he whirled around, but the blurry sight of curly brown tresses stopped him short. It was _her. _She was still with him. For the moment, at least.

He accepted the glass gratefully, noticing that his arms were shivering slightly, and his skin was sweaty. He felt hollow, as if a great storm had swept from within him, some crucial part of who he was, and although his mind had regained the memories he had lost, the toll had been too much. There was now a void within him, an abyss that was so vast- with a gravity so intense, begging to be unleashed upon the world around him, and hungry enough to swallow everything Dumbledore had planned, a belfry of rage so mammoth, Harry was afraid of himself.

The memories washed over him even before the glass touched his lips. His hands shook uncontrollably, sloshing the water in the glass violently. He gulped the water down before he could spill any of it. Then he handed the empty glass back to her, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath- and then let loose a scream through clenched teeth. Some part of him registered her taking a step back, giving him some space to vent his frustration. He didn't know how long he screamed for, but when he was finally done, his throat was aching sore and dry again. And she was prepared with another glass of water for him. He took a few sips, taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

And then she put a hand on his arm. A _different_ kind of fire raced up and down her touch, and Harry wondered if she had changed as tremendously as he had. For he wasn't _just _Harry potter anymore- and maybe he was something less, and in being that something less, maybe he was something more.

They had both realized just how big the game was, and Dumbledore had shown them they hadn't even been playing it, merely being played with. _Born to die. My only destiny was to die._

"It's okay Harry," she said, "We're alive…we're well."

_But for how long, _he thought. He felt that same icy frost return within him, chilling his cognition. _If I live, so does Voldemort. And as long as he lives, I am hunted. _And so, Harry sat there, holding a half empty glass of water to his mouth, eyes weak enough to not look past a few yards, but still gazing into a time and place a million miles away. A wind, chilled and biting, carrying broken shards of frothy rubble and ice was howling within him- _I must die, or the nightmare doesn't end. First, I destroy the horcruxes, and then I die- the last horcrux. Neither lives, neither survives. _

_Set me free, _the monster within him spoke, and not for the first time, Harry wondered if it was real. _Those who have swathed you in misery and suffering shall themselves taste the flavors- again and again if they must, _it said.

And then the monster within him broke free of its chains, rearing its majestic head up above the surface of control and restraint. _Why should I die- and for whom? For people who used me all my life? For- because Dumbledore wanted me to?_

He remembered the portrait of Phineas Black, who claimed to have offered Dumbledore another solution to his predicament. _Something about murder. _He would have to have a chat with the portrait. For the moment, not thinking about the stolen memories seemed in his best interests- until he regained some strength, he didn't think it wise to put his mind through that kind of stress. Someone was waving a hand in front of his face. He blinked and finally drank the water, relief flooding his throat. His glasses were pushed in front of his face, and he accepted them, exchanging them for the glass tumbler in his hand.

His vision cleared up, and his surroundings came into view. Turning his head just a little, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Hermione standing not a foot away, looking at him with worry in her eyes, the empty glass held in her hands. "Are you alright Harry?"

He turned his face to look at hers. She had cleaned up, and her minor injuries had healed. She was biting her lower lip, like she was wont to when she was deep in thought. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, and she wore her Hogwarts uniform, complete with robes draped over the shirt and skirt. "I…uh," he took a deep breath, "We need to talk Hermione."

Her face hardened slightly, and she met his eyes with a resolve of titanic determination. She gave him a nod. "Whenever you're up to it Harry. How do you feel?"

"Unbearably warm, famished, and prepared to hang Dumbledore's corpse by the gates of Hogwarts." He muttered. "Where am I?"

Hermione took a step back, settling down in a comfortable chair and looking back at him, replied, "You can hang it once I rip his innards out and stuff them down his throat." Harry turned to look at her. _There it is._ She had changed too, and it wasn't for the better. She was something darker now, a hundred shades of black past dark perhaps. Dumbledore had stolen his memories, but Hermione's… her memories he had destroyed. But she had never before shown an inclination to violence and gore, and Harry was pretty sure she was serious when she had said it. "You feel warm because…. that's the last of your fever leaving you Harry. You've been burning up since you fell unconscious in ….in _his_ office, and Madam Pomfrey said it was a magically induced fever. She- uh… she said your magic had changed. And though she assured me it wasn't anything to worry about, she also told me to call her when you felt like it. She said it could be important. As to where we are, we're in one of the unused rooms near the infirmary…there wasn't any bed left for you there. Madam Pomfrey thought it would be best to keep you isolated in case any of the Slytherins got any funny ideas."

Blood left his face faster than a heartbeat. _My magic changed…how is that possible? _Something didn't add up. "Wait…how long was I…How long was I out for?"

She looked him over once. "You've been out for three days Harry. A lot of people wanted to check up on you, but I convinced Madam Pomfrey to keep them all out." Harry flinched at her answer. He was shocked at how long it had taken him to… at how badly the memories had affected him. _I fear what you may become…_

"An elf should be around with some food soon enough."

Harry almost sprang out of bed at the mention of an elf, hand twitching towards his wand laying on the surface of the bedside table. Her eyes met his startled ones, and she stood up again to placate him. "Relax Harry… The moment I could, I went to the kitchens… I didn't find Gimble- of course, but I found Dobby. Dobby was… _well, _Dobby was _Dobby. _When I told him you needed his help, he was prepared to wage war against all elf-kind. He told me none of the elves _actually_ knew Gimble, though they had heard of him… Or seen him lurking around the castle. They only know him as Dumbledore's personal elf."

She sighed, sitting down once more, "He's not in the castle anymore, Harry, and if he is, well, he is somewhere the elves can't find him. Dobby has agreed to stay nearby in case Gimble gets any ideas. He will keep his distance- unless or until we call him."

There was an edge in her tone, that made her voice intimidating. She had changed, _irrevocably, _and Harry was saddened by it. Harry took another good look at her. Her brown hair wasn't the bushy mess it used to be years ago, having been tamed somewhat. The cuts and bruises Harry had seen on her earlier had been healed. Her lips were set into a cold line, and her eyes were…it wasn't just strength they shone with, but a poise and tenacity that Harry had not seen in them often. Sure, when she was arguing about what she felt was right, or over a discussion about academics. But this Hermione was different. Not new, or unfamiliar to him, and yet _stronger. _

A plate of food appeared on the small bedside table to his right, loaded with sandwiches and orange juice and accompanied by a jug of water, but there wasn't any sign of an elf, and Harry thanked his stars for that small mercy. It was too soon for him to be near an elf. He would most probably end up killing the poor bastard. And while Harry had nothing against most house-elves, Gimble though, was an entirely different matter. Gimble was one elf, he would squeeze the life out of with his bare hands.

He ate in silence, gulping down the juice in a hurry, Hermione watching his every move. He felt rather nervous. He had no secrets from her, not anymore. Even secrets he didn't know he had…every thing he would have sworn to hide away from the world, from her, had been laid bare at her feet. She probably knew- or maybe she had always known, that he had feelings for her, to put it mildly. In truth, he _worshipped _her, and they had sometimes had little differences, and sometimes had fought too, but nothing would change the fact that everything Harry knew about love, compassion and purity, he had learnt from her. She had given him a hug, his first one- if those sorts of things mattered at all- as lightly as if she was taking a breath, and in doing so had bound him to her in a way that was unbreakable.

But all he had given her in return was trauma, trouble and violation. She had faced death countless of times, all because of her association with him. And now he knew Dumbledore had violated her privacy because of him. And if she didn't want anything to do with him, who was he to stop her? _But she stayed, didn't she? I was out for three days, and she stayed._

A part of him knew- _believed,_ her name and his wasn't written in the stars, at least not together. Maybe if he had been some regular _Harry, _instead of Harry Potter, or some regular _Potter_, instead of Harry, and they had struck once more in the Hogwarts express, maybe then he would have stood a chance. And maybe in another life, he wouldn't have a scar on his head, that would leave him without a soul to rest his soul with.

But this life seemed too harsh, even for his tastes.

When he had chased away the last of the bread crumbs, and could no longer stall for time, he rose from the bed, deciding to freshen up before he probably lost the best friend he would ever have.

When he came back, she was waiting patiently in her chair, reclined backwards with her legs stuck out. The shower had been much needed, and he still felt weak; waves of dizziness had assaulted his senses again and again, and once and twice he had stumbled into the walls. He took a seat on the side of the bed facing her, and for the longest moment, neither of them made a sound. He watched her wave her wand about, muttering secrecy wards, and even sketch some hex based runes into the thin air to keep people out. He gulped as she realized who the wards were for- _Gimble. _For a moment, his anger flared, and he wanted nothing more to watch the life fade out from Gimble's large eyes.

He stared into the oil lamp burning on the bedside table, and she stared at him.

When she cleared her throat, as if to speak, Harry finally gathered the courage to look at her. Their eyes met, and another short spell of silence reigned between them. Finally, she took a deep breath.

"You tried to commit suicide."

_Fuck. Right down to the bone as always. _He looked down, for there was no way he could meet her eyes. But he had to tell her, he had to convince her that he was past that- he knew he could never take the coward's way out, that there was no peace in that easy solace. "I was down Hermione. It was the lowest I have ever been. But I can promise you, I am past all that now. I… there is too much I have to do… Worlds will crumble, and prophecies will break if I choose the easy way out of this mess. You don't have to worry about it."

"Your life is not yours to take." She spoke seriously. "It is yours to live."

"I told you I am past all of that."

She studied him with somber brown eyes. "Are you sure you don't want any help? We could go to a psychiatrist or a Healer if that's what you would prefer; you could talk about it. Or you can talk to me, if that's what you want."

But Harry shook his head. "I'm fine. I am used to dealing with… anyways, it was just a momentary lapse of judgement. Trust me, it won't happen again."

That seemed to quell her issues with his suicidal tendencies, and silence issued between them for a minute, though Harry could tell she wasn't entirely convinced.

"You asked me to the Yule Ball."

It was a statement. Her eyes weren't unkind, and Harry realized they were back to the very first memory. He took a short breath, and nodded.

"Why?" She asked. She didn't appear condescending, as Harry had first feared. She was either merely curious, or just looking for answers to everything. "Was it because you liked me? Or because you thought I was a friend who would solve the hassle of getting a date?"

_Wait- What?_ Harry felt a spike of anger swell within him. Was that what she thought? Didn't she know even now? Even after _all of that?_

"Is that what you think?" He asked her, eyes full of betrayal, and voice full of heat. But she was nonplussed. "I don't know what to think Harry. You…you are my best friend. And…_Dumbledore,"_ she spat the name out, "he did his best to wreck us- our friendship- we were pawns in his game Harry- and I know…I…I know he wronged you the most Harry…but there are things I have to tell you- things I haven't told a single living soul- but, I just want to make sense of my life for now. So please, just…let us just talk about everything we saw- and…" She stopped talking after a while, not knowing what to say anymore, but the strength in her eyes remained.

Harry gave her a long look, before deciding that telling her everything would be the best course of action. He raised a hand to his hair, running it through the tangled wet locks. "I asked you to the Yule ball, because I liked you- because I like you, though now, like isn't good enough a word. I first noticed you as someone different when you stood by me against the entire school when my…my name came out of the Goblet. It took me weeks to build up the courage, and the Yule Ball just gave me a brilliant excuse. Now that I remember everything, it was one of the happiest moments of my stupid life- hearing you…hearing you say…yes."

Her eyes were wet. She had followed every word he had said with rapt attention. And his words had…moved something within her. She nodded gently, as if to say she understood now, and when she stayed silent even after minutes had passed after his heartfelt confession, Harry realized it was his turn to speak now.

He thought back to his fifth year, when she had asked him to Hogsmeade- on a date. His stomach fluttered a bit, and his face warmed. "We almost went on a date to Hogsmeade."

She looked away from his eyes, blushing up a ton, and the hints of a smile tugging at her lips. She crossed her legs first, and then her arms. In the yellow light of the lamp- the only source of light in the dark room, Harry thought she looked beautiful.

"I don't know how someone can be as thickheaded as you Harry." She began, finally turning her face to give him a shy smile, which ended up as a smirk. "I got tired of waiting for you to get all the hints I dropped for you- though looking back at it, you did ask me out to the Yule Ball, so I guess you're forgiven."

She gave him a smile that said she knew something that he didn't. He stared at her for a second, and when she saw the bland look on his face, she rolled her eyes at him, exasperated. "Forget that last bit you dolt- you're thickheaded as ever."

She huffed when he still didn't get it. "Yes Harry," she spoke, cheeks flaming red, "I asked you out to Hogsmeade because I…I really liked you- I mean, I still do. And I…I thought if anyone in the world would be okay with what I am- with me being so different, it would be you."

Harry had almost stopped listening to her after the first sentence. _She likes me? Wait- what? _Eyes so wide they could have almost started from his forehead, Harry looked at her incredulously. She laughed gently when she saw his face. "What?" She asked amidst her laughter. Harry could have heard that sound forever- he could have sat on the edge of the bed forever, watching her laugh like that- face flushed and red, brown eyes crinkling with laughter, rosy lips curved upwards over a row of perfect white teeth.

Harry wanted to _ravage_ her.

"You like me?"

She gave another eyeroll, and Harry thought the world had rolled with her brown eyes. "Of course, I do you dummy. I've liked you for quite some time now Harry," she said, shyly.

Harry was _hooked._ "How long?"

"You brought down a mountain troll to save me. Harry. So how long do you think?" She paused for a second, deep in thought, "I think… since…since the end of third year…" She looked at him then, almost _through_ him, he thought. He licked his lips nervously, before speaking, "To be honest, I…uh, I've always thought you were _way_ out of my league. I mean…I never thought you would like me."

It was Hermione's turn to be incredulous. She gave a disbelieving laugh, "Me? Out of your league? Merlin Harry!" She gave him a smile. "You're such an idiot, Harry Potter." She straightened up in her chair then, slipping off her shoes and pulling her feet underneath her. In an instant she was somber, no longer laughing, just a small smile on her face. "I've always looked up to you silly. And I am pretty sure I love you Harry." Her voice was softer than a feather.

Harry though he was falling down a cliff, or maybe he was at rest in the air, it was just the ground rushing up to meet him. Or maybe he wasn't falling down a cliff, maybe he was riding a comet, blazing in outer space, circling a beautiful sun with brown eyes. It was a rush. And, he decided, maybe he was flying. His heart was beating so hard, Harry was afraid it was going to break his ribs.

_Love_.

Something melted within him. He realized he had been staring, for quite some now. But Hermione had just been looking at him this whole time, giving him a soft look, her brown eyes never leaving his. Suddenly she was out of the chair, and in a single clumsy step, she was kneeling in front of him. "_Harry?"_ She whispered, eyes wide, voice impossibly soft.

Harry could only watch her, and her brown eyes, not knowing what to do. Ever so slowly, even as he watched, she brought up her right hand, index finger extended, and plucked a tear off his face. It was at that point that Harry realized he had been crying. All the stress, all his burden, the weight of the sky- it all came hurtling down on him. Dumbledore's betrayal, and his own death sentence, Voldemort, it all rained on him like an avalanche.

From behind the veil of his burden, he saw her bring her fingertip to her lips. Her tongue peeked out in between her lips, and she put the tear on it. Harry's eyes went wide, his misery momentarily forgotten. He watched her suck on her finger, and it drove him wild. There were a lot of things, none of them decent, he wanted to do to her, right then, and he imagined each of them vividly, eyes fixed on the finger she was sucking on.

With a pop, she pulled the wet digit free from her mouth. Harry's eyes flitted to hers, and he saw her give him a knowing smile, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking about. He blushed, for a moment, unable to meet her eyes. Then his eyes caught Hermione's shiny wet finger. He was transfixed, and his fixation didn't pass Hermione's notice. Giving him a smirk, she brought her finger to his lips, offering him a taste.

Harry jerked back, stunned beyond words, but Hermione's finger followed the trajectory of his lips. Her smile turned into a full-fledged grin, and Harry knew he was fucked. She looked breathtaking, and if she had asked him to jump off the Astronomy tower, right then, well, who was Harry to decline her. He looked into her brown teasing eyes. They were challenging him to do it. It was a dare, albeit, Harry thought it was the best dare he had ever received. Besides, Harry couldn't think of any better things to suck on.

Slowly, he leaned forward, taking her finger in his mouth, closing his dry lips around the digit. His tongue lapped at the inside of the finger, before Harry took hold of it gently with his teeth and swirled his tongue around it. A few circles in, he pulled his tongue back, and rubbed its tip against the tip of her finger., sucking on it the entire time.

_Where do all the stars go Harry? Maybe they hide behind brown eyes and rosy lips._

He wanted to kiss her- _hard_\- until his lungs were screaming for breath and her lips were swollen, and her hands were pulling at his hair while his hands explored her body with a fervent madness.

_Fuck!_

He was getting _hard_, and he thanked Merlin Hermione's eyes were fixed on his lips.

She pulled it out suddenly, not caring to wipe the wetness, and gave Harry a pat on his cheek. "Good boy." Harry flushed, suddenly feeling embarrassed. She got up looking back for a moment, before her hands closed around the armrests of the chair and pulled the chair closer to the bed. She sat down then, eyes boring deep into his, brown locked with emerald.

"I guess I should say it again, Harry. I think I love you. And I know you haven't had an easy life, not with the Dursleys, and not with Albus Dumbledore, so you don't have to say it back. But after what I saw in the pensieve, I want you to know this Harry, no matter what you decide after tonight…I will always be here…I've always got your back."

That was it. Hadn't he waited three years for this moment? And wasn't all the agony, all the pain and suffering, all the death worth this? And wasn't this too much? He lunged forward, startling her for the tiniest of moments, before he was wrapped around her. "Oh Harry…" She whispered in his ear, her arms coming up behind his back, holding him close, and he knew then, he would do anything to have her hold him like that again. _Save the world or set it on fire. _They stayed like that for a few precious moments, before her hands found his shoulders, and she pushed him back, holding him at arms-length to look at him.

"Before I ask you the most important question Harry, there are somethings you should know about me. I know I don't need to tell you to keep this a secret Harry, but there is only one other person apart from me who knows, and that's Madam Pomfrey- because she was the one who explained to me what I was."

Harry's eyes widened as he realized where this conversation was headed. He straightened a bit, understanding how important the next part was going to be. She took a deep breath, craning her neck to look upwards, as if looking for some kind of divine help. Harry realized she was afraid. Afraid of how he was going to take this bit.

"Hermione," he began, "it's okay. There is nothing you can tell me about yourself, that will make me like you any less. Even if it is just to get you in trouble, I am always here for you."

She laughed at that, but it faded quickly into anxiety again. "You don't know what you are getting yourself into Harry." She gave him a sad smile. "I…I will start from the beginning then," she said, sitting comfortably on the chair behind her.

Harry chose to sit in front of her, at her feet, sliding a pillow underneath him to protect against the cold floor and leaning back against the side of the bed. She sighed at that, clenching her fists nervously, before leaning back in her chair. He gave her the time she needed to collect her thoughts.

"I was born a hermaphrodite Harry," she said, looking straight ahead, over the top of his head, "which means I was born with both sexual organs. The...uh…the male parts were under-developed and internal, which meant that for all intents, purposes and appearances, I was a girl." Harry had known what a hermaphrodite was, but knowing that Hermione had been one all along was enormously shocking in the least. But he dared not interrupt her, lest she lose her courage. And so, he listened with rapt attention.

"My parents knew about it, of course, but they didn't feel it was something to be…ashamed of…or something to be kept from me…They told me when I was ten, and I came to terms with it knowing it was never going to affect me. I was a healthy girl…and that was all that mattered. But what no one knew Harry-", her eyes flicked to his, "was that I belong to a succubus heritage…which is why I was born like this. Someone on my mother's side…some great-great-or-so-ancestor…was a succubus…and yes, magical too. But…. the genes were dormant. And…. then in second year… when that incident with that Polyjuice happened Harry… the thing with failed Polyjuice transformations Harry-"

"They leave behind too much residual energy, with unbound transfiguration matrices…and because it is a potion it stays behind in the system for a couple of days, and the matrices might attach themselves to the most susceptible entity."

Hermione stared at him in shock. It wasn't that she thought he was stupid, but Harry rarely showed academic prowess outside of examinations. He gave her a sheepish grin in return. "Um… wow Harry. Ten points to Gryffindor I would say… But yes, as you can guess…the Polyjuice triggered the change, and by the time the fur fell away… I… I was a- I had a…"

Harry had an inkling what she was going to say, and it scared some part of him. _Surely not! Life can't be that cruel._ He waited for her to say it, not wanting to disturb her in the slightest. For a moment, he thought she was going to cry, but instead, she sat up straighter, "I have a penis, Harry, or what you boys prefer to call- a cock."

It wasn't the fact that Hermione sported the same appendage as him between her legs that shook him more. It was hearing her say 'cock'. Harry found it incredibly arousing. When he looked up at her, distracted by the sudden silence, she was looking at him expectantly. Harry froze a bit, unsure of what to do, aware that Hermione had just laid bare a potentially devastating secret in front of him. And because through some unfathomable and unbelievable circumstances and events, she claimed to love him, his reaction probably would matter to her the most.

_It doesn't matter,_ he realized. _I don't care. _

He was curious, if anything, but if she was expecting any form of revulsion or disgust, then Harry was extremely proud to disappoint her. He leaned forward, placing his fingers on her knees, and met her worried eyes with his own. "I don't see how that is… I mean, I don't care Hermione. If you think…like- if you think this is going to make me think less of you…. You are wrong. If anything, I am sorry I dragged you into that mess back in second year, but only because it… because you suffered. And…more importantly, Hermione… it doesn't change the way I think about you. At this point I doubt anything will."

She looked at him like he was speaking some language she didn't understand. And for a minute or an hour, he didn't know which, he let her stare at him. "I want to spend my time with you, as a friend, or as a… or as something more- but that is up to you. All I know Hermione, is that I want to be with you no matter the cost."

She gave him that sad smile again, and Harry desperately wanted to replace it with something better. "You say that because you don't know what being a succubus means Harry. I don't think… I don't think you would want to be anything more than friends with me if you knew."

"Why don't you tell me everything and find out for yourself?" Harry had long since decided he wasn't going to budge. Besides, he was not that same person now who used to play by Dumbledore's rules. He wasn't going to give up on her because she had an extra appendage. She looked down into her hands then, and they spent a few more moments in silence. The she reached behind her, pulling aside the small cushion that lay, crushed into the back of the chair, and pulled forth a thin book. It was a simple black affair, and it had definitely seen better days. The binding had been renewed, but the pages had yellowed, and the print on the cover had faded, until the only words left legible were 'Th– of Succubae'.

She offered the book to him, "It's a…well… it is the most accurate text I have found on Succubae Harry. 'The myths and secrets of Succubae'. It contains historic references as far back as those written by Egyptians monk, and although much of it is pretty much conjecture and observations, the other books I have read on the topic all say the same. You just need to get to the end of Chapter 3 for now… though you can read all of it if you want."

Harry took the book tentatively, ready to pour through the pages immediately and put this behind him, but Hermione had one last thing to say. "Hey…"

He looked up from the cover, meeting her eyes.

"Before you go through it, is it okay if… is it okay I kiss you? Just one kiss? In case you decide you don't ... you know?"

Harry wanted to tell her that it wasn't going to happen, but Harry's world was already tumbling for a moment, not sure if he had heard her correctly. _What the fuck? Is this real?_ All he could do was stare at her like a fool, as she stood up, slipping on her shoes, and walked towards him, with steps that reminded him of that one time he had seen a large jungle cat stalk its prey on Dudley's television. His hands were suddenly very sweaty, and some over-active part of his brain thought it would be best to keep the book aside for the moment.

Harry thought he was dreaming, but when she bent at the waist, and her right hand found his chin, and her touch became reality, he found _himself_ stirring. The rest of him, though, was frozen, eyes wide and caught like a deer in headlights. Maybe some part of him was trembling, and maybe some part of him was raging with excitement, or maybe, just maybe he had stepped on a live wire- but something far wilder than electricity was flowing through him, barging into his body from that spot on his chin, where Hermione had forcefully claimed it.

And then she was upon him, barely an inch from his face, and he could see her pupils dilate, the simple flare of her nostrils, as she breathed in deeply, and the wetness of her tongue as it sneaked out from her mouth to wet her lips. Harry found himself entranced, eyes refusing to leave her lips now that they were so close…so _within_ reach. He could smell her fragrance, almost like roses and rain, and the monster within him wanted to lean in and rub his nose against her neck and inhale her scent till it was all he could smell. She jerked his chin ever so slightly, and his eyes flicked back to hers. Millimeters from his face, lips wet and on the cusp of kissing him, her eyes locked with him. She wasn't asking for permission; she didn't need or want it- and he was too far gone to withhold it. She was staking her claim. She smirked at him, and he gulped nervously.

And then their lips met, gently at first, and Harry couldn't- wouldn't believe, how impossibly soft her lips were. She wasn't about innocent kisses- her kiss was all kinds of indecent, as if she knew he was rock-hard. It was nothing like how he had expected his first kiss to be, and honestly, he had expected his body to, well, behave like _his_ body. Instead, every part of him _sang, _and yet Harry could identify none of it. All he could feel was her incredible lips, the fingers on his chin, and his own hard phallus. it was slightly scary, all the new, brilliant sensations running through him, blood thrumming under his skin.

Their lips moved in tandem, hers thrilled at the chance to wet his dry ones, and when she caught his lower lip between her own, pressing at it as if she was squeezing a lemon for juice, Harry lost it. He thought he heard her moan, but he couldn't really concentrate on anything else anymore. The feeling of her lips, and the powerful image of Hermione holding his chin, bent at the waist, kissing him so very _sensually_, enveloped him, and Harry could have sworn he had never felt so elated in his life ever before.

Her other hand came up then, trailing up his left cheek, behind the ear on the same side, and tangled into the hair at the back of his head.

And then, somehow boldened, he dared to slip his tongue out, taking a tentative taste of her lips. She froze, and Harry feared he had spoiled the moment, but then she was pulling his hair harder, hard enough to hurt- and still making him want her to pull harder, kissing him much more fiercely, and Harry was… eyes closed, he was watching constellations fall into place. He had imagined this moment in countless fantasies and dreams and wished it upon many a falling star, and now that he had it, now that he knew what it was like to kiss Hermione Granger, Harry found he would never have enough of it.

And just as he was about to take just one more lick at her lips, she pulled away, and Harry noticed the… wistfulness in her eyes. _God, what just happened? _

Harry hoped Hermione wouldn't notice the _raging_ _erection_ he sported in his pajamas, although the tent was glaringly obvious. She brought her fingers to his lips, swiping them across his lower lip, and them pressing them against her own. _When the fuck did you become such a seductress Hermione? _Their eyes wouldn't let go off each other, and Harry wondered how much of a sin it would be if he pushed her back into her chair and kissed her harder than she had kissed him. And she must have read it in his eyes, and the tilt of his lips, pulled of their own volition towards her still wet lips, for she gave him a knowing smirk, and straightened up.

She took a step back, taking a deep breath as if to calm herself. "I am going to give you some space Harry. Think about… think about what you want to do now. I am going to burn the Wizarding World, with or without your help, preferably the former. Go through the book, then think about everything you learnt in the pensieve. Together, we can re-shape the Wizarding World, apart, well, apart Harry- I have no idea how long we will last. Our enemies are countless, and allies some. And if you decide you want to be friends, then…" she paused to sigh, and Harry knew how much she disliked that particular idea, "then that's okay too. I'll be at the top of the Astronomy Tower, no matter how late it gets, where the bane of our lives died."

She turned around, and Harry wanted to stop her right then, wanted her to give him one last kiss before she left, but he knew she was right.

"And," she said, leaning down so that her face was inches from his again, moving ahead to whisper in his ear, "I hope when you're done, you're still thinking the same way about me." Her hand had reached forward to grab his painfully hard erection, and Harry let loose a squawk of protest.

But she was already gone, and Harry was left watching her ponytail swing as she went.

* * *

Author's Notes- If you like the story so far, leave a review.


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